Crosses
by PaintingStars
Summary: She could feel them drawing closer to her, their horrible sounds echoing off of the pine trees and power-lines that dotted their way up the mountain like rows of crosses in a cemetery. He had fallen behind, and this time, she didn't have a choice. She had to run. A/N- This fic only takes place in the Walking Dead universe, it does not (at this point) contain any TWD characters.


"God fucking dammit!"

Ronnie's ears were still ringing from the screaming, and her foot ached from kicking in the heads of the two reekers that sat at her feet. She stood over Lisbeth's body, well, what was left of it. Blood matted the girl's blonde hair, and her intestines squelched under Ronnie's boots. She refused to feel anything except pity. But hey, her boobs were still in tact. That's what she would have wanted. After all, she had paid so much for them. Lisbeth was an ex-stripper, fitness junkie, and her best friend. Her only friend. Even before the world fell to shit. She took one last look at her pretty face, still contorted in agony, before driving the barrel of her rifle through her eye socket.

Dropping the gun, she pulled the Tiffany necklace off of Lisbeth's neck and put it around her own. It was her pride and joy. Well, apart from her boobs. Lisbeth would always tell the best stories, like how her half-blind sugar daddy bought her the necklace, and despite the fact that the world was going to shit, she was always hilarious. She was always happy, always ready to cheer you up. That usually helped get her through the day. Usually.

Ronnie didn't bother looking back. What was the point? The scene kept replaying in her mind. She had been standing on the countertop, raiding a cabinet when the screaming began. She made it into the living room just to see Lisbeth pulled down by her long, glossy ponytail, her neck and intestines already becoming a fresh snack for the two lurkers in the room. The look in Lisbeth's eyes were seared into her mind. A pleading, animalistic fear. A secret promise between them. If one of them died, the other had to make sure they didn't come back. She owed it to Lis. It was sad. But she wouldn't let herself feel anything. She refused. Emotions make you weak. If anything, she was jealous of Lis. She wasn't suicidal by any means, but death wasn't unwelcome. Well, unless it was the undead.

She didn't waste any time heading into the bathroom. She felt like a shell. She stared at herself in the dingy mirror, her expression blank. Her eyes and freckled cheeks were free of tears. Void of any emotion. She picked up a lock of her long hair, and with a rusty pair of kitchen shears, she began to chop off each chunk of red hair. She thought of Lisbeth with each cut, imagining being pulled down by her own hair. She continued to chop until her hair was only a few inches long. It was messy, not attractive by any means, but her fingers slid through easily, unable to really grasp any hair. Practical. Safe.

She tossed the scissors into the pile of orange in the sink and made her way through the kitchen and back outside. She picked up her knife, lost in the panic, and shoved it in her pocket. She made sure to ignore the pile of bodies on her way out. Walking outside, she plopped herself down on the porch of the house they had been looting. She unzipped Lis' bag and pulled out everything worth taking. She grabbed a pack of batteries, tampons, granola, a zippo, dry socks, and a new water bottle filter. There wasn't much else she would need. She scooped up her own bag and tossed it across her back.

She sat perched in an overgrown tree, eating peaches out of a can with the end of her knife, watching lurkers drag by on the street. It was her last can, but she thought she deserved it. After all, she decided, my best friend did just get eaten. She speared another peach, watching two battle over a squirrel. They were hungry. She lounged along the branch, stretching her legs out. She ran her hands through what was left of her hair. Her head felt about 10 pounds lighter. The breeze whispered across the back of her neck, a feeling she never really experienced before. She liked it, she decided. It was freeing. She didn't need the long hair.

She bit off another peach, and stared into the dimming sun. It would be dark soon, and she really did want out of this town by nighttime. At that moment, a raindrop smacked her in the center of her forehead. She looked up at the sky, seeing black clouds rolling in from the east, and going the way she was going. A loud clap of thunder confirmed it. She noticed the lurkers pause their argument at the noise, looking around blindly for a source. This might be her best chance, she decided, slinging her bag across her back and hopping down from the branch. She made her break for the shitty little Toyota parked across the road, one that she and Lisbeth found abandoned in a driveway a few cities away, keys in the ignition and doors already unlocked. It even had a full tank of gas, even though it would be low soon. She shut the door as quickly and quietly as she could, praying not to grab the attention of any of the lurkers wandering nearby.

She locked the doors, just as the rain began to pour down. She was almost out of Montana, and the rain was becoming more and more frequent the further she traveled into the Northeast. It would be a long trek getting to the Puget Sound, and an even longer trek to Alaska. If she even made it that long.


End file.
